Human Companionship
by Jimelda
Summary: House doesn't want to be normal. If he's just like everyone else will he still be a brilliant diagnostician? That is his greatest fear. A short one-shot about what House and Wilson were thinking at the end of "Merry Little Christmas." Non-slash.


**Title: **Human Companionship  
**Rating: **PG  
**Summary: **Everyone gets lonely sometimes, even House. He acts as if he doesn't care about other people, though the truth is he's just too afraid to get close to anyone. But how does he handle that loneliness when it becomes too much?  
**Author's Note: **After watching the season three episode "Merry Little Christmas" I felt like writing something about how Wilson and House were both feeling in those scenes. Since no one can ever attempt to accurately describe Dr. Gregory House, I'm sorry if my thoughts are completely incorrect. But this was such a powerful episode, it just needs to be written about. So anyways, I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated, thanks. :)

* * *

"Thought you might prefer people over pills."

As House sat alone in his apartment, twirling his pill bottle, Wilson's words kept running through his mind. Though he'd scoffed at the time, maybe there was some truth in the phrase.

He would never admit it, but he longed for human company sometimes, just like normal people. Maybe that was why he'd never tell the truth about his feelings.

House didn't want to be normal. If he was the same as everyone else, nothing but another face in the crowd, he'd be useless. Because he didn't care what people thought of him and wasn't afraid to stand out, he was able to make the unusual diagnoses that he did. He took risks and had no interest in what other people said.

But if he lost the uncaring, vague, sarcastic personality that was the very definition of "House," he wouldn't be that brilliant doctor anymore. And that's why he came home to an empty apartment every night, why he would never let anyone else get close to him.

He knew that, was aware of every time his actions pushed someone away. But his very nature forced him to be that way, and even if he'd wanted to change, he couldn't. However, it was Christmas Eve and maybe he was feeling odd because of the past few days he'd spent detoxing, but he didn't want to be alone.

Calling Wilson was out of the question, House would never tell his friend that he'd been right – it wasn't worth it. There was someone else he wouldn't mind talking to, though.

He picked up the phone, somewhat hesitantly, and dialed the number.

Waiting anxiously for an answer, he took a sip of the whiskey that was sitting on the table. As he did, he noticed his hand shaking. Whether from withdrawal or nerves, he didn't know, but for some reason this made him feel even more defeated. Then he heard the answering machine.

He realized with a shock that he was disappointed, but he'd come this far – he didn't want to stop now. So House took a deep breath and waited for the beep.

"Hey Mom." He paused for a moment. "I guess you guys are already up at Aunt Sarah's." More silence as he tried to think of something to say.

"I'm sure Dad's in the eggnog, and your probably suffering through another dried out turkey." He smiled for a moment, remembering previous Christmases that he'd spent with other people, instead of being alone. Those times were before he'd become the man he was today.

That thought sobered him up quickly, and he wiped the smile off his face. But now he didn't know what else to say.

After a long pause, he decided to end this torture before it got any worse.

"Just wanted to say Merry Christmas," he finished lamely and quickly hung up the phone.

The silence surrounded him once more and he was overcome with a strong sense of desperation. Popping the rest of the pills into his mouth, he washed them down with the glass of whiskey. Then he put his head in his hands and waited for everything to fade away.

* * *

Wilson stood outside his friend's door, knocking loudly. When House hadn't answered the phone, he became worried that something had happened. The doctor hadn't seemed himself the past few days, and Wilson hoped he hadn't done something stupid.

"House?" he called as he continued to knock. "Are you okay? I called three times."

His questions met nothing but silence from the other side of the door.

Wilson had wanted House to know he was there before barging in, and had actually hoped that his friend might answer the door by himself, without any forcing. But when that didn't happen, he frantically dug through his pockets for a key as he began to feel the faint stirrings of unease.

When he finally did open the door, however, he realized with dismay that House wasn't on the couch. Stepping farther into the room, he noticed that the lamp in the corner had fallen onto the floor.

That was when he found House lying beside it.

He ran across the room toward his friend, jumping over the guitar that was propped beside the couch. Frantically rolling House over to check if he was still breathing, Wilson was overcome with a mixture of shock and fury. What had his friend done to himself? Why?

Wilson saw vomit on the floor beside him and tried hard to contain his disgust.

Then House slowly opened his eyes and looked up at him with a dazed expression on his face. His eyes were rolling around in his head and his pupils were so dilated that it was clear he was high on something. Wilson couldn't tell if House was even coherent enough to know what was going on, or if he even recognized the face peering down at him.

Wilson reached across his friend for the pill bottle beside him. Reading the label, he sighed in dismay. It was a prescription for Oxycodone, the same one his dead patient had been scheduled to receive that day. Wilson knew House was addicted to Vicoden, but he hadn't thought he'd go so far as to stealing pills from a dead guy.

He stared down in anger, but of course House didn't care what he was thinking. He never had, and definitely wouldn't when he was too stoned to move off the floor.

For a moment House looked at him and there was an expression of recognition on his face. In his eyes, Wilson thought he saw something other than the dead look that was all too common for House.

For the first time, House looked genuinely _sad_. It was as if he was trying to say sorry for everything he'd ever done. But then he blinked and it was gone. And Wilson didn't care anymore. Whatever House was going through, he needed to learn to deal with it in a better way, without hurting the people who cared about him.

_I know it doesn't matter to you, _he thought sadly, _but you have people who love you. Why can't you think of someone other than yourself for a change?_

Without saying a word, Wilson stood up and stared at House once more in disdain. Then he threw the pill bottle on the floor and walked away, more disappointed than he had ever been before.

* * *

As the door closed behind him, House rolled back onto his side and frowned. The world was becoming clearer and he wished he could go back to the oblivion of before. But it was too late - he couldn't hide behind his pills any longer. Now it was time for action.

Deep in a corner of his mind, he knew that. But his head still wasn't clear enough to allow for any more thoughts or movements. Deciding to wait until everything stopped spinning around him, House closed his eyes and felt the world disappear once again. But he also trying to ignore the strange longing he felt. This time he wasn't craving pills. Instead what he hoped for was the companionship of a friend.

House was tired of being alone.


End file.
